


A Bitter Night in Solitude

by ThyDeviousViolet



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, One Shot, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThyDeviousViolet/pseuds/ThyDeviousViolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the in vitro fails, Scully finally allows herself to crumble alone from the weight of all her struggles. Naturally, of course, Mulder refuses to give up on trying to save her from herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bitter Night in Solitude

The mental pain of her latest disappointment throbbed at her temples, made her vision blur, and her stomach sick.

_-Suffering-_

So much suffering...

Too much for one person to endure in a lifetime, let alone the span of five years.

Despite how far they had come together, she could not allow to truly lose herself in his presence. Yes, she'd tearfully expressed to Mulder that the procedure had failed, and they'd looked at one another with the same distant, glossy look that they had developed for their pain together, but that had been all. No outburst of anger, no breakdown, no cursing the world for all its unfairness...

No expression of her real emotions had been made, though this time it was not that she refused to open up, but rather that she could not will herself to let the sadness consume her whole. Something about this was so final to her, as her last chance, that she did not have the capacity to wrap her mind around it. More than anything, she just wanted to numb the pain before it came. And, she knew, that once it eventually consumed her, it would be a long time if she ever recovered.

He had noticed that there was something in her eyes that he'd never seen before; some empty, hollow stare, and had desperately wanted to reach out and cradle her to his chest as they both lost themselves to agony. But, he knew that she would not condone the dramatics. No, she had always been the kind of woman to express her pain in solitude, and though it bothered him, he knew that to push her at this difficult time would only make matters worse. With a quick kiss on the forehead, and a glance at one another, she had escaped his apartment like a wild animal running from a cage.

Of course he was devastated that her chance... _their_ chance...to make a family had been ruined. Yet, his concern for her wellbeing overpowered his own sadness. After all, he was not the one who was barren from a cancer inflicted by his own doing. Scully had suffered the consequences for his quest long enough, and it devastated him to know that it would never get better. What a shame to know she'd never be a biological mother...never to experience the swell of her womb, and the bond that instantly developed between mother and child.

What a _fucking_ shame.

Perhaps if she had a child, the loneliness that always tormented her would dissipate; though she'd never admitted that, he knew it to be true...

Unable to think clearly, he turned his lights off, sat in the dark, and stared at the walls, hoping that sleep would somehow miraculously find him.

Yet, Scully, as her stomach continued to churn in the car from the wave of emotions that was soon to obliterate her, could not find the strength to go home. The last time she'd felt this reckless was years ago, when she'd slept with a total stranger and gotten that ridiculous tattoo. No...she could not go home in the state she was currently in.

More than anything, she needed something to numb her pain for the time being, and as she drove aimlessly, she eventually found herself at the scummy liquor store down the road from her apartment. Alcohol had never been her source of solace, though she enjoyed her wine from time to time, but it seemed to be the only way to temporarily placate her broken heart. If she could just paralyze herself to the pain long enough to find a healthier way to deal with it all, then so be it.

Truth be told, as she exited her car and gazed at the offerings in the store, her desire to get mind-numbingly intoxicated thrilled her more than she understood. As out of control as her life currently was, why not live accordingly? 

The options before her continued to expand in potency. Wine was too formal and cliche, whiskey made her stomach roll with the thought alone, and tequila reminded her too much of her college days. Back to when she was full of life and could have achieved greatness, instead of being barren with a government salary and chasing things that go bump in the night. No need to be reminded of what she could no longer have, though that was the whole reason she wanted to wallow in misery in the first place.

A large bottle of vodka was perched in front of her as she continued to mentally expand on her misfortunes, and before she know what she had done, she had already brought it back into her apartment. 

Time bounded forward in a cumbersome fashion from that point on.

Intentionally she had refused to eat, and gulped the liquor from the bottle as quickly as she could, alone in her apartment. It was like a race to beat the brackish tears as they began to streak down her face, making her skin rough, crimson, and splotchy. She so badly wanted to get herself to the point of no return. 

The game with herself continued, as she continued to grow more dizzy and more capable to tap into the deep-rooted issues in her life. Soon her tears became sobs, and the back of her hand stung from being rubbed raw with wiping her tears and nose. She was admittedly a disgusting, heaping mess on the floor of her kitchen, and continued to push the limits. To feel herself spiral out of control thrilled her! Finally, to feel _something_ without guilt! 

It finally occurred to her...the thought that she had tried her damnedest to avoid: she suddenly realized how unfair it was for her suffering. All the years she'd spent cleaning up after Mulder, only to get nothing but darkness in return...

All of this was his fault.

Dammit, she was so tired of being proper, motherly Scully! The woman who always kept her cool and coddled her partner whenever he needed more self-esteem and reassurance. The woman who was so unaccustomed to expressing her emotions, for fear of burdening another, that many could not see that she had slowly unraveled at the seams long ago. More than anything, she wanted someone to step in and save her from herself, but this was the real world, and heroes didn't exist.

...aliens, monsters, and conspiracy were common, but a hero was more impossible to find. 

The devastation of this killed her inside. For a while she had spoken to a therapist, but she hated to feel mediocre and assessed. After a few months into her remission, she had ended the practice all together. No therapist could give her what she needed, which was an intimacy. Her true savior would be able to read her mind, to save her from the fear she always held in expressing her needs and emotions, and could make her comfortable in a way she had never felt before. 

Mulder had never done that, at least not _really._ The sense she always had to protect him from himself never quite allowed her to consider him as a superior force, capable to help her with her burdens. Or, rather, she did not deem him superior enough to _let_ him...

Maybe she'd just never met the right man. Maybe he didn't exist at all. Were her standards too impossible, or had she just stooped so low that she did not think she deserved to be understood? The mix of apathy and lack of self-esteem was shocking to herself. The last time she had felt this insignificant was on the cusp of death in a hospital bed, but this was somehow different. Never before had she felt consumed enough to desire her own demise when she was perfectly healthy otherwise. Well...physically, at least. Mentally she'd become lost in herself within the past year, and instead of asking for help, she had allowed it to continue.

No need to prolong such a sweet end...

Her thoughts continued to spiral out of control, as well as her inebriation. Fits of uncontrollable sobbing were sometimes replaced with bitter,hysterical laughter. Not that anything was funny, but she felt her life was a _joke_. The sound finally tormented her beyond her capacity, and she grew tired of the voice inside her head that mocked her for what she'd become. 

It was so _pathetic_...

Self-pity caused her to take another long swig of the vodka. Then, she realized, as the bottle was held higher to release its revered contents, that it had already been half consumed by her alone. At this rate she knew she should stop, as she was near the point of going overboard, but noted that sweet paralysis was just what she needed to take the pain away. Maybe, if she was lucky enough, she would stop breathing, or choke on her own fluids, long enough to take her misery away for good. As it crossed her mind, she knew her judgement was extremely impaired, but the new side to her desired chaos, and an end.

With a hearty laugh, and tears that began to fall again, she chugged away. 

_Please, God, take me from all of this agony. What have I done to deserve it?_

She'd never allowed herself to be so overwhelmed, so selfish...

Maybe it was because she had never put her needs before others; the distraction she got from her own life, achieved by caring for Mulder, had been enough for a while, though its potency had waned once it became a full-time job. Now alone, and with the alcohol on her side, she found that her resentment toward him had been latent under her hardened surface. 

Who would take care of her? Did she not deserve to be cared for? How had she never been this enlightened? 

The dangerous game went on, with the severity of her condition and her thoughts ever increasing.

* * *

Two hours later, Mulder awoke with a cold sweat lined across his brow, and a heart that raced.

There was some force that beckoned him, and though he did not understand, he listened to the feeling in his gut. Immediately he rose, grabbed the key on his kitchen counter, and ran from his apartment toward his purpose. Perhaps he had not done enough to comfort her earlier; though he knew that she would not allow it, he still should have tried to at least do  _something_. At the very least, he could have prevented her from being alone. 

Though she'd never been self-destructive, there was something in the pit of his stomach that ached when considered her alone. Whether or not it was premonition was beyond him, but he fled to be near her, for fear that something was not right.

Out of courtesy, he knocked, softly at first, until he heard no response. All these years together, he had learned that she was not a heavy sleeper. So, when he received no answer, he began to pound his fist on the door, and somehow he knew in that moment that she was far from fine. He fumbled for his keys when she did not answer, and shoved the door open before he stumbled inside. 

He braced himself for the worst, and locked the door behind him as he gathered courage. As he browsed the state of her apartment with paranoid eyes, he found his gaze focus on a tiny foot on the floor of her kitchen. With a furrowed brow, he sauntered toward her, and then stopped dead in his tracks. 

Her small frame, in nothing but an oversized button-down, was unconscious on the ground. The red strands of her hair were stuck to the perspiration on her forehead, and her eyes fluttered behind tired lids. 

"Scully..." he rasped, and was at her side on the kitchen tile. He checked her pulse, and noted her shallow breathing, before his nostrils were assaulted from a sickly sweet, powerful scent near her mouth. 

"Scully, my God...what have you done?" he mumbled pitifully, though he knew she could not hear.

He sat next to her, pulled her dead weight onto his lap, and used his thumb to brush against the sweat on her brow. When his thumb came into contact with her skin, he shuddered at the clammy texture of her flesh. Her eyes seemed to jerk, and he pulled upwards on her lid to reveal nothing but white. It was uncomfortable seeing her like this, so helpless, and yet, so at peace.

It disturbed him beyond belief. He felt angry tears form at the corners of his eyes, and swallowed hard, before he sat her up against his chest and cradled her softly. He rocked for a moment, much like a child when lost, as his mind raced.

Had she been poisoned by some unknown force set out to destroy her? Or...worse yet, had she tried to destroy herself?

As he held her, he turned his eyes toward the kitchen island, and immediately it clicked to him: a bottle of vodka sat there, more than three-fourths consumed. He had been in this very kitchen last night, and knew that had not been there before. Not only that, but Scully hated hard liquor. For her to have stooped so low to purchase it signaled to him that she had definitely hit some rock bottom.

Was she exhibiting signs of alcohol poisoning?

Not sure of himself, he shook her hard in his arms, and watched as she jerked, lifeless against the force of his shake. For a moment, her eyes fluttered, and she took a very deep breath, before saliva began to foam in tiny dribbles at the edge of her lips. Soon, her eyes stopped moving again, only to focus for a moment, before they completely rolled into the back of her head. Suddenly, his stomach dropped.

"...Scully?"

He shook her again, harder...and nothing.

...Scully!? Can you hear me? Hey..." he begged in a pitiful yelp, and held his hands on the sides of her face to let her focus. For a moment her eyes opened again, and she moaned loudly, in an odd gurgle of unconscious stupor. Then, as though nothing had happened, they closed again, and she went more limp than before. He sat there frozen, and glared at the subtle up and down motions that confirmed she was still breathing...even if just for the moment. 

Should he force her to get all of this out of her system? It seemed like the only solution to the problem. He knew that he should take her to the emergency room to pump her stomach, but knew that if she indeed survived all of this, that the shame of waking up there with him would devastate her more than he could fathom. The goal could be met here, he thought, as the only real purpose of pumping her stomach could be met by inducing vomiting. It was crude, and more dangerous, but if it _removed_ the alcohol from her system into a more survivable level, then so be it. 

If he didn't act fast, he knew that the alcohol would eventually paralyze her muscles, including the diaphragm and her breathing response. And, if it were to escalate to that point, he would not be able to save her in time.

But...did she even want to be saved? Had she done this on accident in grief, or on _purpose_?

Unable to think on it further, he rose from the ground, and fumbled to take Scully in his arms as he carried her into the bathroom. Try as he might, he did his best to sit her against the wall as he took his shirt off, but she slipped and knocked her head hard against the floor.

 _God_ _dammit_...

Not hard enough to give her a concussion, but hard enough to bruise and swell. Luckily, his panic subsided once he realized that a small knot had begun to form at the edge of her temple. All they needed at this point was internal bleeding, and he was glad one disaster had been avoided, with his irresponsible behavior to blame for it all. Maybe if he had offered more for her, she would not have done this to herself. 

As he pushed those thoughts aside, he came back into reality with the realization of his prior purpose. He had removed his shirt for fear of her making more of a mess than intended, and lifted the toilet seat, as he tried his best to get her to lean against it. 

Again, her weight overwhelmed her lifeless frame, and she nearly tumbled, as he scrambled to prevent her from smacking against the hard tile. For a long while, her head rested against his chest, and she moaned lightly. A warm sensation filled him, as she was so lifeless and so ready to be cared for, but suddenly his blood begin to boil.

"Scully I don't have time for this," he growled, and felt anger rise within his bowels.

How dare she put herself at risk like this? How dare she have so little regard for him that she would leave him alone without any warning?

Unsure of the next move, and with his prior attempts all ending in failure, he settled on getting her into the bathtub. Slowly, he lowered himself down into the tub, hands under her arms as he supported her weight, as they rather ungracefully toppled downward together. After a while he had settled her against his chest, and took a moment to focus on her breathing.

It had lessened significantly in its tone, and her chest heaved less and less with the passing minutes.

_Is it too late?_

"Scully..." he begged in her ear, with her unconscious as she lay on his chest.

"Scully god dammit!" he yelled, now impatient.

Her head fell slightly, and for a moment he perked up, hopeful that she may briefly awaken enough for him to determine her status.

It was soon evident, however, that it was just a response to a stimulus: after a low gurgle, a steady stream of stomach contents began to drain itself from her mouth. He jerked for a moment, shocked at how quickly it had happened, before he tried to sit her up enough to keep both of them out of the line of fire. Some had unfortunately trickled down his chest, but he ignored it for the moment.

 With her lurched forward, he rubbed her back. It helped nothing, and he knew she would not remember, but it soothed the worry in his mind for the time being. The grimace on his face was extreme, and normally he would have been blatantly disgusted, but he was just happy that perhaps it gave her more of a chance to live another day. After a while, and a few deep breaths, she paused, and lost all signs of life.

For a moment he sighed, in the hope that she had just passed out.

Then, however, he began to panic, as he noticed that she had not taken a breath.

Another second passed, and still, nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

"Jesus Christ..." he almost cried.

Unable to think clearly, he lay her down in the tub and sat on top of her. Some unprofessional mix of chest compressions and mouth to mouth was exhibited by him in his panic.

"I'm not the fucking physician Scully, you aren't supposed to do this to me," he grunted, as he desperately used all of his energy to bring her back.

"Scully I'm serious, you can't leave me!" he finally yelled, and felt his hysteria rise. Tears had begun to form in the corners of his eyes, but he paid no notice. How long did the brain have without oxygen? Wasn't two minutes the period of irreversible damage? How had she never taught him this?

It frightened him to see her so lifeless, as she barely reacted to his rough treatment. After what seemed to be too long, he stopped, unable to catch his breath.

"Please God, don't do this... _no_ ,no, _ **no**_..." he began to sob, pathetic and useless.

Had he always been then useless to her? Is that what ultimately drove her to this point? 

The silence consumed him, and he felt himself fall victim to grief. The black cloud of his childhood, when he had lost Samantha, had made its return. It was a common thing for him now, to lose someone due to his irresponsible behavior. What good was he? 

As he wept childishly, reduced to nothing but the shell of a man who existed before, he heard a gasp of air suck through her mouth.

His eyes widened, and he looked over at her to see her chest heave as she lay on her back. Instinctively, he rolled her over and patted her back with enough force to prevent her from choking. 

The source of the problem seemed to be briefly resolved as she promptly vomited again on her side. There seemed to be more force exerted by her, and he hoped that perhaps it was a good sign. She lay there again, with deep breaths in and out...in and out...in and out. It seemed that the worst was over, at least for the time being.

Scully's breathing was the most soothing sound he had ever heard. Mulder felt tears sting his eyes again: had he almost selfishly lost himself to grief while she fought for her life? What if he had not come here tonight...? Surely, she would not have survived. No...she would not have survived. Who was to say she would not take a turn for the worst anyway? 

The urge to take her in his arms and hold her overwhelmed him. He did as his instincts desired, and held her close, as he began to sob again. 

"I swear to God...if we make it through this, I'll never leave your side again. No more secrets, no more lies. I don't want the darkness anymore...I...I just want to appreciate you like you deserve. You've made me everything that I am. It's time I pay back the favor, Scully."

After a few long hours, she began to make progress. Some hours in, when he noted her ability to almost hold herself up again, as she mumbled incoherent statements, and after the sickness had ceased for good, he allowed himself to doze ever so slightly.

Eventually, she would awake in absolute confusion, freezing amidst her own fluids, with a hazy film over her eyes as she would come to realize she was in his arms. A certain look of disappointment would be in his eyes as he gazed at her, but it was more out of care for her wellbeing than as a means to exude authority over her. There was something in his eyes that signified to her that not only did he value her as an equal, but that he relied on her out of respect. For her to have been so irresponsible as to jeopardize her own wellbeing, when she had _him_ to live for...seemed rather idiotic now. 

There in the bathtub, as he watched her slowly piece together all that had happened, he noticed her grimace painfully. She had never been the type to blackout, and the span of last night absent from her memory distressed her greatly. More than anything, she was shocked that he was here at all, but noting the traces and patterns of her own bodily fluids they currently lay in, she realized that he had somehow taken it upon himself to care for her.

_How did I get here in the first place?_

Then, the dark vestige of the day before flooded back into her conscience with a vengeance. The mediocre feelings that slapped her pride were further assaulted when she recalled what it was that she lost the day before...

Or, rather, what _they_ lost.

Mulder began to panic in the silence, as he noted the tears that began to form in her eyes. For a moment he paused, not sure if he should turn away to respect her, or if he should stay. Then, in the instant that sealed the deal, her lower lip trembled, and his stomach sank: she began to weep, unapologetically, and in plain sight. To relive the moment she learned the IVF failed seemed tragic, if not more unfair than before. His heart broke on queue, and as his chest began to heave from the wave of emotions that assaulted him as well, she buried her face into his chest, and they sobbed loudly.

He held her again, just as always. Holding onto each other for dear life, in fear that if they let go, they would somehow lose themselves.

Finally, she seemed to have tired herself out, and tears would no longer fall. A sheepish look near embarrassment peaked from under her lashes, as the moment was over, but he frowned in an effort to scold her for feeling shame. 

_Not with me, Scully, not anymore._

Mentally, she seemed to accept this, and rather ungracefully attempted to raise herself from the tub, but faltered. Mulder braced and raised both arms in case she stumbled back, but she seemed to catch her balance. When she tried to lift her legs to exit, however, she felt his hands on her waist guide her back inside. 

"You're a mess...let's get you cleaned up first," he stated, and his voice cracked, deep from sleep and crying. 

"...okay..." she mumbled pathetically, as she felt tears begin to form again.

After he briefly cleaned out the remnants of last night in the tub with hot water, he ran a bath. Normally she would have felt ridiculous, but her vision was still slightly hazy, and her balance had yet to fully return. Not to mention, she felt like _hell_. So, when he began to undress himself fully, and moved toward her to help with her own clothing, she did not protest. As the scene unfolded, he sat down in the tub and motioned for her to settle in front of him. Slowly she lay down on his chest, as the warm water consumed them, and to her surprise, he began to wash her hair. Small, comforting, kneading movements on her scalp, ever gentle...ever sincere. Like getting her clean was the only thing he could control to make her begin to feel better, and so he took advantage of the opportunity. 

There was something so affectionate about it...not like he was taking advantage of her for a more sensual, erotic purpose, but rather, that he was so terrified that she would not react well that he forced himself to be gentle and earn her trust...

Somehow, things were different between them after that point. She made a conscious effort to try with him, considering that he had saved her when she had not asked. It was bold, and oddly satisfying for her to realize.

Mulder would never recover having taken her chance to be a mother away. It was a tragedy, and though he knew he could never compete with the affection and love that a mother has with her child, maybe he could make her feel loved enough to feel as though she were worthy enough to have experienced it.

No...he could never truly compete. But, he would try. 

 

 


End file.
